Fluff
for L.K.C.
Of pollen freed
from anther drifts
into woods, what
naturalists term
“a troubled landscape”
and you call “beautiful.”
Somewhere
you knew that
humans trouble
all we touch
though that
was intuition.
To translate farms,
houses, sheep
and cows, cities,
sewers, power
stations, satellites,
spies, the grab for
power like the grab
for mineral rights:
humans cannot
stand uncertain
or imaginary
gain. You think,
imagination has
no power. Yet
what else makes
our feelings sway
and moves us
with such force
we wake up as
if (your case)
from near-
death: a cave that
yawned before
you, abra-
cadaver, and
something (some-
one) murmured,
Only flesh
knows love,
I guess.
Your one foot
lifted to cross
over, one
eye opening to
stay, and now
the reason why. 